


life we love beneath the blue

by getmean



Series: sledgefu week 2019 [1]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getmean/pseuds/getmean
Summary: He and Snafu only grow closer as the year begins to wind down. Late November brings with it early evenings and dark mornings, and they both get put on the same patrol route to Eugene’s quiet delight. They bump shoulders as they stroll along the cobbled streets of Peking’s Inner City, the evening dropping dusky around them.





	life we love beneath the blue

**Author's Note:**

> for the 'hidden scenes' prompt for sledgefu week this year!

Eugene’s eyes follow the cracks spiderwebbing the ceiling, mind half-blank and drifting as he fetches up against a wide, green water stain, and he re-routes. The hot, airless room him and forty other men are clustered into seems to have a multitude of leaky roof panels, judging by the state of ceiling. Eugene would know; he’s been mapping it for close to an hour by this point, one ear on the officer at the front of the room droning on, and the other distracted and irritated by the guy sitting behind him breathing through his mouth. He crosses his arms, re-settles his ass in the uncomfortable plastic chair, and tunes back into the officer just in time for him to pick up on the political turmoil they should expect to encounter in the coming months in which they’ll be stationed in Peking. He tunes back out, eyes drawing back up to the ceiling again as his mind drifts towards thoughts of home.

The nagging sense of discontentment Eugene feels about being stationed in China for the next six months is really the least of his worries, but at the forefront of his mind nonetheless. To have the war end and be told that he would have to wait to see his family is a blow, and yet the feeling is warring oddly with a boyish sense of excitement that seems to be growing stronger with each passing day. It had began on the trip to China, born from the relief that Eugene wouldn’t be facing the danger he had in Peleliu, or Okinawa. The talk amongst his fellow men had cemented it as a sort of boys’ trip in his mind long before Eugene had set foot on Chinese soil, and the only thing so far that seems liable to ruin any fun is the torturous briefing that he and the rest of the men have been sitting through for the better part of three days.

Relief, relief, relief. It overpowers the discontentment as it becomes more and more clear that the only thing Eugene can do is accept the next six months that the Marines have planned out for him. Relief that the war is over. Relief that he came out alive. Relief that although he’s sure his time in China will be nothing short of torturous; full of boredom and homesickness, Eugene still has Burgie stationed right alongside him. Burgie; who he has grown close to during their time fighting together, and Snafu, whose presence is as surprising to Eugene as the fact that the man has grown on him just as well.

He chooses that moment to nudge his knee to Eugene’s and lean in close, close enough to smell the coffee in the paper cup he’s clutching on his breath. “As best shot in the company, I’m gonna trust you to take me out if this goes on any longer.” He quips, earning a frown from Burgie, on Eugene’s other side, and a snort from Eugene. He covers it up with a cough, nudging Snafu with his elbow as he settles back into his seat, visibly pleased by Eugene’s reaction.

“I ain’t the best shot by far.” Eugene whispers back, and just catches the amused curl of Snafu’s smile before he turns his face away. The officer drones on.

The last vestiges of the summer heat cling for the first handful of weeks that they’re stationed in Peking; just long enough for Eugene to really get his heart set on the idea of the experience as one big jolly. It’s the freedom, he supposes; the weekend passes and the bars, the myriad of street food to test his apparently underdeveloped palate against. A whole lot of buddying around, broken only by the monotony of patrols around the city and duties back at the barracks. Snafu deepens his already dark tan; Eugene and Burgie burn to hell until resupply brings with it much needed sunscreen. They sit around and shoot the shit and enjoy the new locale for a couple weeks, and then as the year begins to round down into October the temperature drops faster than any of them were prepared for, Southern boys the majority of them are. Before long they’re patrolling around in the thick wool coats Eugene was sure he’d never get use out of, hats pulled down low and gloved hands stuck in pockets.

“Take me back to the damn islands.” Burgie mutters, once bright afternoon where the sun belies the freezing temperature of the day. All Eugene can see of him is just the red tip of his nose and his blue eyes, peering out between hat and turned up collar. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Remember when we used to dream of cold?” Eugene asks, and Burgie just grunts, stamping his feet in a vain attempt to warm himself. It’s early November, and Eugene is afraid that the temperature isn’t done dropping just yet.

It’s not, and they wake one silent, still morning to such an odd quality of light filtering through into the barracks that Eugene lies still for a moment, half-awake brain working hard to make sense of it. It’s cold, cold enough to penetrate the sweater and long johns he’s taken to wearing to bed, and that still, eerie silence-

“Snow!” Someone hisses, a thick Boston accent, and then there’s a flurry of activity throughout the barracks as they begin pulling boots, shoes, hats on; spilling out of the little concrete building they call home and into the deadened silence of a city blanketed in snow. Sheltered Southern boy that he is, Eugene hasn’t ever seen snow in person, and he stands struck dumb and still as he takes in the scene in front of him, breath fogging in the frigid air. A step forward, and he grins at that famous, mythic crunch under the tread of his boot.

“Hey, Gene.” A voice calls from behind him, a familiar Louisiana drawl, and Eugene barely has time to turn before a hard, cold _thing_ is connecting wetly with the back of his head. It sends him jolting forward, hand going automatically to where he was hit, as Snafu begins to laugh. “Gotcha!” He calls, as Eugene tries desperately to scoop snow from his collar before it melts down his back.

“You bastard.” He hisses, whirling around to find Snafu with another snowball already formed in his bare hands; fingers red with cold.

“Heads up.” He mutters, a sly smirk stretching across his face, and the next twenty minutes of their morning devolve into chaos.

The officers break it up eventually, revoking the entire company’s weekend passes in one fell swoop for their behaviour, though Snafu swore he saw Sergeant Owens joining in the fight. His words fall on deaf ears, and Eugene feels pretty damn glum about the whole situation until the weekend rolls around and he spends it with Snafu; watching him play cards and lose at cards. The two of them joking around with Burgie and a handful of other men, the atmosphere fun and easy despite the intended punishment of having them all stay on base.

“There was a bar I wanted to check out in the Inner City.” A man Eugene recognised but couldn’t pin a name to, muttered. He kisses his teeth, eyes scanning over his cards for a second before he flings them down. “Fold.”

“Next weekend.” Burgie murmurs, ever the calm centre of their little world. “It ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Snafu snorts, and Eugene’s eyes slide his way, catching on the grin just hidden behind his fan of cards. His eyes flit up, huge and pale in the eerie evening light bouncing off the snow outside. “Don’t be too sure ‘bout that.” He says, gaze flicking to Eugene. “Not with Herr Oppenheimer leanin’ on the button.”

“Herr?” Burgie asks, picking a card from the deck. “He’s a Californian, Snaf.”

“And Californians can’t be German?”

“Well it’s a well known fact they can’t.” Burgie mutters, and Eugene is sure Snafu can’t see the smile Burgie’s half hiding behind his own cards. “Blood too thick. They don’t like bein’ down by the coast, ain’t got the temperament for it.”

“You’re bullshitting me.” Snafu says, astonished, and the afternoon falls away to winding him up, leaving Eugene breathless with laughter as Snafu leaves the game without money nor dignity intact.

He can’t help the slow, warm spread that Snafu’s increasingly frantic cries of, stop bullshitting me! gives rise to in his chest. He’s not sure if he wants to, as to halt it would be to identify it and Eugene isn’t sure he’s ready to examine the way Snafu’s growing on him quicker day by day.

—————

He and Snafu only grow closer as the year begins to wind down. Late November brings with it early evenings and dark mornings, and they both get put on the same patrol route to Eugene’s quiet delight. They bump shoulders as they stroll along the cobbled streets of Peking’s Inner City, the evening dropping dusky around them as they make the turn to take them back in the direction of the barracks.

“Owens said he’s gonna make quittin’ time come earlier,” Snafu says, drawing his cigarette away from his mouth with a cloud of smoke. Eugene echoes it; breath fogging cold in front of him. “On account of it gettin’ darker sooner.”

“Why’d they do that?”

Snafu shoots Eugene a sidelong grin, and wanders closer so he can knock his elbow to Eugene’s side. “On account of the danger, and all that.”

Eugene scoffs. “We ain’t seen a damn thing in three months. A little darkness ain’t gonna change that. It ain’t like we get in any trouble when we go out to the bars on a Saturday.”

Snafu’s grin curls teasing, eyes alive and impish under his hat, pulled down low to his brows. “That’s because you’re such a drunken fool they wouldn’t try it, Sledge.”

Eugene’s jaw dropped. “I am not.” His insistence only fan the flames of Snafu’s amusement; his eyes crinkle as he grins harder, bumping up against Eugene again.

“You are.” He murmurs, eyes not straying from Eugene’s face as they wander along the icy cobbles. “Last week, when you fell over and almost killed yourself.”

“It’s icy!” Eugene cries, drawing his gloved hand from his pocket to shove Snafu away from him. “C’mon.”

Snafu’s smile doesn’t drop, and so his following silence doesn’t seem at all like acquiescence at all; in fact the exact opposite. It’s surprising how little Eugene cares. A few paces later Snafu offers him a cigarette which Eugene takes, and he cups his broad, red-cold hands around the end of it so Eugene can light it despite the brisk wind blowing. His closeness sparks a funny, wobbly feeling in Eugene’s chest; as concerning as it is pleasant. They part, and carry on along their route home, and with every nudge of Snafu’s shoulder to Eugene’s, that feeling only spreads.  
To say Eugene feels a certain degree of bemusement about his and Snafu’s growing friendship would be an understatement. He never thought that he’d even really come to enjoy Snafu’s company fully, let alone actively look forward to it. The shift is gradual, a slow creep until Eugene is sitting hip to hip with Shelton on his bunk, playing cards, and realises that he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t have Snafu by his side.

They’re playing with Burgie, who is a formidable opponent when it comes to a game of Gin Rummy but Snafu seems to enjoy the challenge as much as he hates losing. Eugene secretly thinks it’s because he knows that Burgie will buy the round at the bar the coming weekend if he wins, but is collecting more evidence before he brings it up. He’s lounged on his own bunk, eyes on his cards and cigarette clamped between his fingers as they listen to Snafu mumble on and on about how he swore he’d found a roach in his rice two nights ago.

“You’d have called that protein and ate it down a few months ago.” Burgie mutters, eyes flicking up over his hand to watch Snafu select a card from the deck. “This place has you spoiled.”

“I expected shit like that out in the field.” He shoots back, brows drawing down as he surveys his cards. “Not here.”

His knee nudges against Eugene’s, and he glances up expecting to find Snafu making a face at him, or trying to get his attention, but finds the other man still staring intently at his cards. Eugene glances away, mind ticking over curiously as he takes his go, drawing a card and discarding his Queen of Clubs.

He’s been noticing that Snafu has become more and more tactile as the weeks go on. It’s small things, easy to ignore things; leaning into Eugene’s side, touching him while speaking, sitting close with Eugene on his bunk though his own is completely empty. Easy to ignore, if each one wasn’t piled on top of the last, day after day. He finds it easy to dismiss, despite that. After all, aren’t they all a little touch-starved? It certainly accounts for Snafu’s odd, new behaviour, just as well as it accounts for the warm feeling that Snafu’s touch brings. If the touching isn’t odd, then neither is Eugene’s reaction, right?

——————

It snows again, just a fistful of days before Christmas. Another heavy, silent blanket of snow. Their duties continue, and no weekend passes are revoked with this snowfall; all the men a little wiser, a little warier.

Eugene and Snafu are lumped together on patrol again; possibly due to some misconception about Eugene’s abilities to keep Snafu in check. It’s their funeral; there isn’t a way Eugene could even dream of to keep Snafu from doing whatever the hell he wanted, and any bystanders often got tugged along in his slipstream no matter their moral stance. But he never complains; grateful for the alone time, grateful for getting to spend what would be a dull day if it wasn’t for Snafu’s innate ability to make anything seem fun, or daring.   
They talk as they make their slow route through the snowy city, boots crunching in the snow as their breath makes veils around their heads. Eugene is pretty warm underneath all his layers; the thermal underwear he’d invested in doing its job, even if his nose feels close to falling off from how the icy air is hitting it. He sniffs, nose running from the cold, and rolls his eyes at Snafu’s laugh. He’s been sniffing for an hour straight, by now.

“Fancy a guy like you don’t have a handkerchief on him.” Snafu mutters, and tuts. Eugene doesn’t respond, just tucks his face deeper into his collar, throwing Snafu a sidelong glance as he drifts closer.

“What?” He asks, and Snafu’s eyebrows raise.

“Nothin’,” He says, the apples of his cheeks pink from the cold as he grins. “What’s on your mind?”

Eugene stares at him. Sometimes it’s so difficult to match Snafu up with the man Okinawa had turned him into that Eugene doesn’t dare try. Some deep down, rain drenched memory spins through his mind. Fuck you, Sledge. Barked vitriolic into the teeth of a gale, like the crack of a hand across his face. “I dunno.” Eugene replies, before the silence stretches too long. A man on a scooter trundles past them at a snail’s pace, Michelin Man-like in all his layers. The streets have been quieter since the snow fell; sometimes it feels like they’re the only people left in the whole city when they stray into the less populated areas. “Thinkin’ on Christmas. On gettin’ home, I guess.”

Snafu hums, hands dipping into his pockets before they reappear; clutching his lighter, his cigarettes. He offers one to Eugene, who nods, and they trail a few more yards as they smoke, Snafu’s silence thoughtful as they make their tracks through the snow. “What’s your plans now it’s all over?” He asks, eyes very pale in the light of day; against his deep summer tan, his dark hair and the dark hat pulled down low. “You thought on that?”

Eugene shrugs, fingers clumsy on his cigarette through his thick gloves as he takes a drag. “I guess just goin’ back home and trying’ to work out what happens next.” He murmurs, and the sky is a blank white sheet that pains his eyes as he glances up at it; the sun a watery, indistinct shadow beyond. “Whatever that looks like. School, work. Daddy wants me to do medicine like him, but I ain’t ever had much of a bedside manner.” He huffs out a laugh, and Snafu chuckles.

“You ain’t too bad.” He mutters, eyes appraising on Eugene as he brings his cigarette to his mouth. Eugene finds his attention stuck for a long second, marvelling at how bright and alive Snafu looks amongst all the white and grey.

“What about you?” He finds himself asking, mouth and body moving on autopilot, independent from his brain; still stuck on the full pout of Snafu’s top lip, the shadow of stubble just darkening his jaw and the cherry of the cigarette dancing over it all.

Snafu grins, that slow spread of a smile that Eugene is sure he could recall on memory alone. Languid, deliberate, always with that edge of mischief to it. “Gettin’ home to my family. Back to my job, my crowd, all my bad habits I tried to keep out there.” He snorts, eyes sliding away as they pass a huddle of dark storefronts. “Gotta try and build up a little somethin’ I could call a life after survivin’ all that, right?”

“Right.” Eugene echoes numbly, feeling oddly detached from himself as his brain whirs through Snafu’s words. Emotion rises from the fog of feeling in his chest, and he identifies it as upset before shoving it back to where it came.

“My daddy always said I was like a cockroach.” Snafu adds, with a quirk of his mouth that leaves Eugene wondering if he was supposed to take that as a joke or not. With Snafu, it was always too hard to tell. Again, that odd feeling of sadness rises; and as they both lapse into silence he gives it a moment, lets himself feel it.

Why did it sting to hear Snafu paint Eugene a picture of his life outside of the military? Was it jealousy? He thinks again on the mental image of Snafu going about his life after their war, and is struck again by the same feeling. Disappointment. Hurt. Was it really so hard to imagine Snafu continuing on with his life so separate from Eugene?

He spends the rest of their route through the city pondering this question, growing increasingly silent and frustrated as a suitable answer failed to reveal itself. He sits at dinner later that night with his head in the clouds, working through everything but the obvious, the avoided.

Snafu is sat opposite him, oblivious, their knees nudging together under the little table. He eats quick, like a child raised on too little food, and Eugene finds he’s grateful for the distraction his plate gives him. He’s sure he couldn’t school his expression into something neutral enough for Snafu not to pick up on if he tried.

He doesn’t like that Snafu’s plans don’t include him. The implications of that are too much for him to think on at dinner; surrounded by four dozen men, eating, laughing, talking. Not when he knows how easily his emotions show on his face. Quick to blush as he is to frown, and Burgie is already looking at him with something curious in his expression.

Snafu finishes his food quickly as he always does, and pops a cigarette into his mouth as he rises, gathering up his mug and his plate. “Gotta date with a shower.” He grunts around his smoke, and tips Eugene a wink before leaving. He and Burgie watch him go in dumb silence, until Eugene turns his attention back to the meal he’s been picking at.

“You’re quiet.” Burgie says, then, and Eugene reaches for his cup of water just to hide his expression for a second.

He swallows, clears his throat. “Just thinkin’.”

Burgie tips his head to the side, those shrewd blue eyes of his settled warmly on Eugene. “Notice you and Snafu are closer.” He says, feigned indifference thick in his voice. “You fellas made up?”

A dart of panic shoots through him, and Eugene frowns, turning his eyes back down to his increasingly unappealing-looking food. “Somethin’ like that.”

It stays on his mind long after his evening duties are done and Eugene retires to his bunk. Mind racing as he stares up into the shadowy ceiling of the barracks. Burgie is snoring away in the bunk next to him, and the sound is making his eyes heavy, making him drowsy, but he can’t seem to disconnect his brain enough to fall asleep. To say he hadn’t realised how close he and Snafu had been getting would be a lie; he knows, he’d noticed them growing closer, but hadn’t realised it was noticeable enough to anybody else. The thought makes his ears burn with embarrassment, the thought that people are watching and taking note of them. It shouldn’t be a shock, not after their interactions during their time in Okinawa had dwindled to so little; Eugene is sure it made any closeness they shared now amplified tenfold.

They had both been close in the beginning, if that was the word for it. Eugene had leaned a little too heavily on Snafu’s experience, and Snafu had been so amused by him that he’d let him hang around. It had been a surprise, considering his attitude on the day they first met, but a welcome one. Eugene thinks of the give of half-rotted flesh under his fingers, his ka-bar slipping in his sweaty fingers and the drop of relief in his stomach when Snafu had given him an out. They had grown apart not long after that; swept their separate ways in the mud and the rain of Okinawa, by the bitterness they had both slipped into.

Eugene grunts, and turns onto his side as he makes the decision to move away from the topic for good. They’re reconnecting now, and there’s nothing wrong with it. His gaze fetches up against the vague figure of Snafu through the darkness, asleep on his back in his bunk, and the jolt of affection that courses through Eugene is as disturbing as it is heady. The soft slope of his nose flowing right into the full pout of his top lip is so sweet, so tender to Eugene that he could rest his eyes on it for hours. He’s transformed in sleep; far more peaceful and young than he ever is by the light of day. It doesn’t help the flowing tide of affection in Eugene’s chest, and he’s helpless to stop his mind turning down into memories as he watches Snafu’s brow wrinkle in his sleep, one hand coming up to rest his forearm over his eyes. The two of them crouched in their foxhole under a rain of artillery; Snafu’s face still puffy from the shallow sleep he had been jerked from, lit sporadic by the star shells erupting above them against the night sky. If Eugene admitted out loud how he missed it, he’s sure they’d label him mad, but it wasn’t the danger he yearned for, or the long stretches without sleep, the filth and the smell and the aches all over his body.

Snafu used to rest his hand to the nape of Eugene’s neck, in moments like that. Used to draw Eugene’s head close to his chest. The two of them hunkered down together, a tight little ball against the horrors surrounding them.

—————

Christmas inches closer, with Snafu’s mood dipping further and further into something irritable and snappish as the days go by. Christmas morning dawns, and he’s just as badly tempered as ever; in a low mood from breakfast all the way through daytime duties and into dinner. It’s a loud, upbeat affair; the best food they’d seen since Thanksgiving, and the COs had gotten their hands on a few cases of beer, and rice wine, so the alcohol is flowing far freer than it ever did during holidays in Japan. Eugene finds it difficult to get swept up in the festivities with Snafu such a dour presence by his side; barely picking at his food as though he doesn’t normally wolf down meals far worse than what’s in front of him. Eugene feels helpless to do much, as he’s been so preoccupied by his midnight realisations of the previous week that he’s found himself avoiding Snafu a little, deliberately or not.

Later, when everyone is pink cheeked and jolly, handing around gifts and drunkenly carolling, Eugene touches Snafu’s arm, tilting his head towards the barracks. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Snafu sets his wine down and stands, motioning for Eugene to lead the way.

The night outside is cold and dropping even colder; Eugene hunches in on himself as they walk quickly to the slightly warmer barracks, not even the wine keeping the chill away. He hangs back for Snafu to head inside first, and doesn’t miss the roll of his eyes as he ducks past Eugene, sweet and curly headed in nothing but a thin t-shirt and a drunken flush.

“Ain’t you cold?” Eugene asks, watching Snafu linger uncertainly by their bunks.

“Wouldn’t be if you hadn’t dragged me out here.” Snafu mutters, taking a seat on his own bed before looking expectantly to Eugene. “What’s up?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Eugene asks, taking a seat opposite. Snafu makes a face, eyes flitting away. “What’s going on with you?”

It takes less coaxing than Eugene had been prepared for. He decides to blame the wine when Snafu shrugs, eyes on the floor between his boots as he admits, “I wanted to be home by now.”

Eugene can’t bite back on his knee-jerk reaction to be surprised. “You do?”

Snafu shoots him a wry look, hands twisting together in his lap. “My little sister was expectin’ me for Christmas.” He says, and shrugs. “I hate lettin’ her down.”

More surprise. “You got a sister?” He asks, confused. Snafu had told him months ago that he’s the youngest of seven boys; never a thing about a sister. Snafu seems to sense this confusion, his lie caught out, as he smiles, self deprecating.

“I didn’t want everyone makin’ comments ‘bout her like-”

“Like you make about other people’s sisters?” Eugene butts in, and Snafu snorts.

“Yeah, like that.” He shrugs. “She’s eight, some kinda last minute miracle baby. Didn’t want her name mixed up out here.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Eugene murmurs, and then, haltingly, “And I’m sure next Christmas will be even more special, with you home. You ain’t lettin’ her down.”

Snafu snorts again, an odd discomfort passing over his face as he shifts on his bed, eyes sliding away from Eugene’s face. “I’m already a let down for her. Least I coulda done was be home when I said I would.”

He’s being uncharacteristically candid, and Eugene is at a loss for how to respond to this honest side of Snafu. For a man with more façades that Eugene can count, he’s loosening up more than wine can be blamed for. It lights something pleased and warm right under Eugene’s ribcage, to be trusted by Snafu like this. He nudges his knee to Snafu’s, just the ghost of the touch he’s yearning to give him.

“Family always forgives,” He offers, and Snafu glances back at him, expression veiled. “She won’t stay mad for long.”

His gaze dips, and then a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and Eugene finds himself pinned to the bed by Snafu’s gaze as he raises his eyes again. “Maybe you’re right.” He murmurs. “I’ve been worryin’ so much on getting home that it’s gettin’ bigger than everything else.” He looks away, then, and Eugene traces his profile hungrily; that sweetly familiar sight. He’s goose pimpled in the cold air, the thin tee he’s wearing not holding up to the chilly barracks, and Eugene is struck by how badly he wishes he could huddle in close, warm him up.

“It’s a big change.” He murmurs, voice sounding distant to his own ears. Snafu grins.

“It’ll be a big change not havin’ you around to be the voice of reason.” He says, and touches his hand to Eugene’s knee, eyes warm and affectionate on him, and he wants to do nothing more than lean into the touch. The point of contact feels warm, electric, and Eugene knows his face is flushed pink from something beyond the alcohol as his brain grinds through a response.

“You never listen to me anyway.” He mumbles, and Snafu’s eyes are alive and playful in his face, magnetic. His hand squeezes Eugene’s knee, and a dart of bravery goes through him before he blurts, “I got you something.”

Snafu’s face splits in a grin. “Why’re you just tellin’ me!” He cries, and then his brows pull down and he backtracks hastily. “I haven’t got you a thing, Gene.”

Eugene flaps his hand, feeling flushed and silly from the wine, from Snafu’s casual touch that he’s blowing way out of proportion. “Doesn’t matter.” He says, before leaning forward to pull his seabag out from under his bunk to retrieve it.

He hadn’t quite planned to buy Snafu something for Christmas, not really, but he had been on Eugene’s mind so much that he thinks he was probably looking for a gift subconsciously. He’d been lingering in a second-hand junk shop in the city, some Sunday afternoon that everyone else was too hungover to venture out on, when he’d spotted it; tucked away right at the very back. Of Mice and Men, a little beat up and tossed around, all the paper stiff and water-wavy, hidden amongst a handful of other English language books. He’d bought it without thinking twice, had smuggled it back to the barracks and repaired it while everyone was out drinking the following weekend. Painstakingly sticking the cover back on with tape until it looked like it had never been torn, and trying to flatten it under his seabag, though to no great effect.

And now, here it is; battered and dogeared and being taken gently from his hands by Snafu, who has a very alien expression on his face as he looks at it. Like it isn’t some beat up probably third, fourth, fifth hand copy of a book, but something so much more.

“Gene,” He murmurs, so touched he’s near speechlessness. He turns it over in his hand, running the fingers of the other one down the cracked, worn spine. “Tryna tell me somethin’?” He asks, eyes still on the book. “Gotta gun behind your back?” He touches his hand to the nape of his neck quietly, the joke falling flat with the emotion in his voice.

“I dunno if you’ve read it yet.” Eugene says, ignoring him. It’s his turn to touch Snafu’s knee now; squeezing it as he watches Snafu’s gaze turn from his book to the point of contact between them. “I thought of you when I saw it.”

He glances up, then. Eyes wide and very green in the dusky light of evening as they flick over Eugene’s face; disbelieving, soft. Eugene wants to retreat under the weight of it but once again feels frozen by it; pinned right through the thin mattress of his bunk as Snafu takes him in. He’s helpless to do little more than let him. In the sudden drop of silence, Eugene can hear the distant sounds of revelry from the mess hall, though he daren’t look towards the door and break the contact between them. Snafu is a wraith in the steadily darkening light; little more than those lamplit eyes, the sweet dark smudge of his mouth. Eugene opens his mouth as if to speak, and then something resolute flickers in Snafu’s gaze, and he’s surging forward to kiss Eugene before he can even react, hands clutching hold at the front of Eugene’s uniform shirt as he tugs him close.

Eugene kisses back, hands catching in Snafu’s curls as his body responds faster than his mind can keep up. It’s worth it for the noise that Snafu makes against his mouth, half surprised, half deeply pleased. His hands grip tighter at Eugene’s front, tugging him closer and closer until Eugene’s knee is braced to the metal rim of Snafu’s bunk, and Snafu is half-sprawled into the once-neat sheets. Eugene’s hand finds the tight curve of his small waist, his shirt riding up over his hip with how Eugene is pressing him back into the sheets, and he gasps against Eugene’s mouth at the first touch of his chilly fingers to his bare skin.

“Don’t-” He breathes, as Eugene makes to move away, and he tugs hard on Eugene’s shirt, closing the gap once more. Eugene catches his lips again, drunk on the feel of Snafu’s mouth on his, that full, plush mouth, the dart of his tongue as he catches his fingers in Eugene’s dog tags. The affection blooming in his chest is heady; overwhelming. Compelling him to hold tighter, kiss harder, get closer. It’s the relief, the happiness — Eugene hasn’t felt such positive emotions in a lifetime, and they’re all borne from the sheer elation that all that has been brimming between them for the past few months hasn’t been one sided. Maybe even longer; maybe the seed was planted with the very first words Snafu had thrown his way; sweating and bronzed and turned mean with unfamiliarity.

Either way, it feels like the natural end to a long road together. From those hot, humid days before Eugene had lost his head, all the way along to the wind whipping away the meanest words either of them could conjure up, and to now; to laughter, to the cold, wet slide of snow down the nape of his neck, to long hours spent wandering together, sleeping beside each other. Eugene holds Snafu closer, nudging his nose to Snafu’s temple just to smell his hair, a grin breaking out before he can stop it.

To now, to what’s to come.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! :~)


End file.
